


Vault 404

by masseylass



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Angst, Drama, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Humor, Kissing, M/M, Romance, Smut, Suspense
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2019-10-25
Packaged: 2020-12-28 19:48:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 11,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21142232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/masseylass/pseuds/masseylass
Summary: What would life in the Commonwealth have been like if the Sole Survivor never left the vault? Each chronological chapter is written in first-person POV by Hancock, Danse, Cait, MacCready, Piper, and Valentine respectively. They each tell their own stories: how Hancock hired MacCready to help him take out the Institute himself; how Danse saved Piper from the Institute, and how she saved him from the Brotherhood; and how Cait and Valentine found each other when they had almost lost hope.





	1. Hancock

**Author's Note:**

> My first person POV has always revolved around the sole survivor, so if you have any constructive feedback, please feel free to reach out. I tend to do better with humor (and there _will_ be humor) but this is a little heavier than I'm used to writing. So any suggestions would be awesome.

Months. Months and months of fuck the Brotherhood. Months of fuck seeing my people get replaced. Months of bending over my balcony and watching the world burn. If only I’d wised up sooner.

There was blood and feathers smeared across the pavement. Come on…not Irma. Coulda taken out some asshole holed up in one of the warehouses, or maybe some drifter instead, but no. Had to be Irma, didn’t it? What the fuck did the Institute gain by replacing people? 

I stood there, watching everyone underneath me crowd around Irma’s – the synth’s – body. Daisy. Kent. Everyone. They all looked up at me. They looked to me for hope. Shit.

That was it. I wasn’t gonna put up with it for another goddamn second. I kinda hoped someone would take out the Institute, some ‘saving grace,’ but no matter how high I got, dreams were still just dreams. If anyone was gonna take them out, it had to be someone willing to sacrifice everything they got. Guess it had to be me. Besides, what good was I if I couldn’t even protect my own people? Let’s be real: I was a shitstain walking around in a red coat. ‘Mayor’ my ass.

Sometimes, I left Goodneighbor; got back in touch with my roots and wandered around the ruins. But not that day. That day, I walked myself down to the Third Rail and hit up that mercenary in the back.

The kid rolled into Goodneighbor a couple months back, hoping to escape his past life. Heh. Weren’t we all? ‘Cept his past was with the Gunners. Sometimes, they came into Goodneighbor and found their way to the bar just to give him shit. I guess he got tired of being walked on, because when I told him I wanted to hire him to help me find the Railroad, he said,

“Jeez, Hancock, the Railroad? Really? Look, even I wanted to help you find those lunatics, I’ve, uh, I’ve gotta go deal with something out of town.”

“Alright, I’ll bite, MacCready.” 

“Wasn’t fishing, you know. Eh…” He considered what he was gonna say to me for a minute, shifting his eyes around from corner to corner. Then he said, “Look, it’s those two assh…those two idiots that keep hanging around, Winlock and Barnes. They’ve been hounding me for months and it’s driving off clients. No one wants to touch me once they learn I used to run with the Gunners. And I figured if I could get enough caps together, maybe I could buy them out.”

“Why, so they can take your caps and put a bullet between your eyes?”

“I know, I know…I’m right there with you,” he replied. The kid was exasperated. “Unless…”

I folded my arms across my chest.

“Tell you what, Hancock, since you’re my favorite ghoul in the Commonwealth, I’ll cut you a deal.”

“Oh, this I gotta hear.”

“Come with me. Let’s you and I pay them a little visit, put an end to them before they realize what’s going on. And before you get that look on your face, let me just say that I wouldn’t even be asking you if I didn’t trust you.”

“I help you take out a couple of Gunner assholes, and you help me find the Railroad?”

“Yup. So how about it, Hancock?”

“Heh. Gotta say, MacCready, it’s good to see you sticking up for yourself. World’s better off with a few less Gunners anyway. Consider it done.”

“Wow,” he mused, “I…I don’t know what to say. Truth is, I haven’t been able to rely on anyone since I was a kid. Everyone I’ve met has either tried to rip me off or plant a knife in my back. But you? You’re different. You let me stay here when I didn’t have anywhere to go, even knowing my past.”

“We’ve all got one of those. You either let it eat away at you, or you change.”

“Well, thanks, Hancock. It’s nice to know that you care. Even if you are crazy for going after the Railroad.”

“Only people who are doing anything to fight the Institute.”

He snorted, the little shit. “The Institute? You’re gonna go toe to toe with those guys? Man, I knew you were crazy, but this is next level even for you.” I raised an eyebrow at him, ‘least I would have if I had any left. “Aw, don’t give me that look. I said I’d help you, didn’t I? A deal’s a deal. You help me kill Winlock and Barnes, and I’ll get you to the Railroad.” 

He stuck out his hand. Well, alright. Maybe he didn’t share all the same ideals as me, but MacCready was good on his word. We shook, sealed the deal. Damn. This was it. I was leaving Goodneighbor, and I knew it might be for the last time. Normally I would have gone up to the balcony, said my goodbyes, told’em all I’d be back and try not to burn the place down while I was away, but I couldn’t do it. I was too emotional. My people were dying, and I was done letting it happen. The next time they saw me, either every last asshole in the Institute would be six feet under…or I would be.


	2. Danse

**Log 102287-7**

We’ve been attempting to contact Scabbard with the energy reading Haylen has collected, but the police station’s high-gain antenna was damaged by a Super Mutant rocket attack and we can’t transmit the data. Haylen is attempting to repair the antenna, but she isn’t certain that we have the parts we need at this time.

**Log 102287-8**

Scribe Haylen proceeded with the repairs as ordered, but does in fact lack the parts required for our signal to reach Elder Maxson. Another hoard of ferals attacked the police station this afternoon. Knight Rhys was wounded in the attack and is currently under Scribe Haylen’s medical supervision. Without that transmitter up and running, we risk another attack.

**Log 102287-9**

Knight Rhys is in stable condition. Another hoard can be seen roaming around the Cambridge ruins, but I am confident that I can reach Arcjet systems and salvage the parts needed to repair the transmitter myself. I have every confidence that Scribe Haylen will tend to Knight Rhys as best she can while I’m away.

**Log102287-10**

I don’t know where to start.

The place was crawling with gen-1s from top to bottom, and worse, there was a courser. The courser was holding a woman hostage, some civilian from Diamond City. I’m not sure why the Institute didn’t just replace her like they did everyone else. Instead, they brought her to Arcjet. There were bruises all over her face. She had been tortured. 

I managed to take out the gen-1s, but before I could eliminate the courser, it started reciting a string of numbers. Then, something…happened.

When I woke up, the woman was standing over the courser covered in blood. She kept asking if I was okay. I told her I was fine, but honestly, I don’t know. There is only one reason I could have blacked out like that.

I don’t know. I just don’t know. I can’t be a synth. 

Everything feels surreal. That woman saved my life. If she hadn’t killed that courser while it was trying to disable me, I would be dead. Not that I was every really alive anyway. I’m not even real, not even a man, just a machine. To tell you the truth, I don’t even know what the point of writing this is. But I am, or was, Brotherhood. I will finish out my mission until I see to it that proper justice has been served.

My name is Paladin Danse. I’m a synth. Diamond City reporter Piper Wright saved my life today, and for that, I owe her more than I have to offer. That being said, I know what awaits me. I will not die like some coward. With Ms. Wright’s help, I was able to install the transmitter and signal the Prydwen myself (against Ms. Wright’s advice which was noted and promptly ignored.) As for Rhys and Haylen…

I should never have left. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything.

-

**KNIGHT RHYS  
Registration: RS104K  
Status: Deceased**

**SCRIBE HAYLEN  
Registration: HN118FS  
Status: Deceased**


	3. Cait

FUCKIN SHITE

Fuck Tommy! Years! Years I spent wastin me time in the Combat Zone, and for what? Only to be kicked out with the clothes off me back, a gun, and a pen and paper! I’m not a writer! What am I supposed to do?! Hash out some kind of sick, ball-point death to raiders?!

UGHHH

Stupid! This entire thing is stupid! And here I am, stupid me, writin on Tommy’s pity paper with his pity pen in some lice infested alleyway in the Commons! THE COMMONS! I’m gonna die tonight, you just watch. And Tommy, if you’re readin this love, FUCK YOU

-

Oh! And another thing! – it’s mornin now, slept like shite thanks – thanks a lot for sendin me out here dry! Not even a clean syringe or two for the road! Instead, I’m stuck salvaging stale, old snack cakes and chems off of some bloated corpse by the ampatheatar. Ampitheeter. UGH. Whatever! The big dome filled with culty arseholes! THAT thing!

-

Oi! Who said these things don’t go bad! I just spent fifteen bloody minutes heavin me guts up over the side of a bridge! Okay, maybe it was the withdrawal. All that rotten corpse had on him was a carton of mentats and a cigarette. Better than nothing, but it aint gonna cut it. I need the real stuff.

-

Night time now. Still no chems. Sweatin bullets. Need to take me mind off things.  
_Roses are red_  
_Psycho is cool_  
_Tommy’s a shitstain  
_ _I feckin hate that ghoul!_

-

FINALLY

Got me a nice fix. But…I dunno. This is wrong. This is all wrong. I’m spittin blood. Tired and too awake at the same time. Me bones hurt. I’ve gotta quit. Wish Tommy woulda kept me around. Maybe I would have stopped, then. Maybe…

No…I wouldn’t have. I’m a piece of shite.

-

Here in Goodneighbor. Still feel like crap. Bought some addictol from the ghoul lady, but it doesn’t do anything anymore. Just makes me withdraw faster. Gotta be another way. Gotta sleep it off first, though. So tired. 

-

EMBERRASSIN!

Hancock peeled me out of the gutter like an old tato. Had some cute mercenary with him, too. Think I’ve seen him around at the Combat Zone before. He sure seemed to know me, said he’d seen me around and I kicked some serious arse. (I mean, when you’re right, though!) Too bad he couldn’t stick around, woulda liked to get to know him better, if you catch my meanin. Instead, Hancock said he was going out there to save the world. Eh, good for him. Got me own problems, though.

Went to have a whiskey. Overheard talk of something called Vault 95. Something about a machine that can flush the drugs outta your system. I dunno. Sounds like garbage to me. Probably just some abandoned vault filled with raiders. But…I’ve gotta try. I’ve got nothin left anymore. I never even wanted to be in those cage matches, but even that’s not an option anymore. At least there I got to use as many chems as I wanted. 

I can’t keep this up anymore. I’ve gotta find that vault. I think it’s me only hope.

-

Dear Tommy, FUCK YOU, PIECE O SHITE ARSEHOLE.

Ferals, super mutants, what else is gonna try and kill me before I get to where I’m goin?! Ran through the Commons like me pants were on fire – and they’d damn well better not be, they’re me only pants! – only to fall through a goddamn sewer! Ugh! And what’s worse is that it’s a vault…the WRONG vault! ARGH! Stupid!

And there’s corpses everywhere! Guys in stupid suspenders, looking like they think they’re important or somethin. Well they obviously aren’t, considerin they’re all dead. Dunno who shot’em either. Bullet right between the eyes, most of’em. Gotta be dozens of these guys down here.

Found a bedroll, anyway. Think it’s time for a sleep.

_There once was a lass from the Combat Zone_  
_She moseyed through Goodneighbor all alone_  
_When she met a man with a rifle and a grin_  
_Said he liked when she beat the shite out of big, muscled men_  
_He stayed and flirted and chatted a while_  
_With his big, blue eyes and that devilish smile_  
_But then he took off with a ghoul in a hat…  
_ _FUCK YOU HANCOCK, YOU COCK-BLOCKING TWAT_


	4. MacCready

So, travelling with Hancock is weird. I mean, I guess it’s cool, but it’s kinda weird too.

First of all, he’s way less scary one-on-one. Today, he let a fart rip that would have scared a deathclaw away. I played it off like it was gross, but actually, it was pretty funny. It definitely would have made Duncan laugh.

Second, he makes everything about sex. This is Hancock we’re talking about so I’m not too worried about it, but if this was someone else who hired me, then yeahhh, I probably would have ended the partnership by now. I don’t really like to mess around with my bosses. Although I guess dick jokes aren’t really ‘messing around.’ It’s just…he has a LOT of dick jokes for someone so serious all time.

I’m not really sure how a ghoul can wear such funny clothes, fart, make dick jokes, and still have any charisma left over, but damn, he really does.

I think he needed to get out of Goodneighbor. Guess that makes two of us. Can’t say I get the whole ‘save the world’ thing, but he seems happier. Good for him. He’s earned it. Wish I could find that kind of peace. I can’t, though…

I can’t stop thinking about Duncan. About Lucy. And Hancock isn’t making it any easier. Tonight, we’re camping out around a fire. Earlier he made some comment about my eyes, how their color reminds him of gunmetal and how they focus when I shoot my rifle. He was probably stoned when he said it, but I dunno…I mean, yeah it’s kind of an ego boost, but I don’t really wanna be flirted with. I know he’s probably just kidding, but I still feel pretty lousy after losing my wife. It’s not like I haven’t slept around, but this is different. I’ll be stuck with Hancock for the next couple weeks, so I’d rather not risk it. Besides, he’s a guy. I’m not saying it’s impossible, but I’m pretty sure I’m straight.

It is nice to spend time with him though.

-

Man, I’ve gotta tell ya, it’s pretty cool hanging out with someone who can walk right through radiation! We came across this puddle of irradiated mud (disgusting, by the way) and there was a steamer trunk right in the middle of it. Me and my smooth skin never could have gotten to it, but Hancock slogged on through it like he owned the place. Popped that sucker open, and now we’re fifty caps richer. Ca-ching!

Later on, we got ambushed by a group of raiders. I don’t know what their leader was expecting, but it sure wasn’t getting knifed between the eyes. Got what he deserved, if you ask me. Plus, Hancock bought me enough time to shoot one of the other guys’ heads off. Blam! Ha ha ha!

Then, later, we were in this abandoned house, and I found a mint-condition issue of Grognak the Barbarian! Oh man, I LOVE comics! 

Guess travelling with Hancock wasn’t such a bad idea after all. Well, we’re coming up on the Mass Pike Interchange. I’m sure it’s gonna be swarming with Gunners. But with Hancock at my side, we might just stand a chance.

-

Well, we’re alive. I…I don’t really know how to write out how grateful I am to Hancock. I was about to barrel in there and shoot them all dead myself. I realize now that I would have died. Duncan never would have gotten the chance to grow up with a dad (assuming his dad can get his <s>shit</s> crap together.)

There must have been a dozen of them, plus Winlock and Barnes, PLUS an assaultron. Yeah. They really don’t spare any expense, do they? Anyway, uh, Hancock sort of dove in front of me, and I mean, his face was already pretty messed up because of the whole ‘being a ghoul’ thing but…

Damn, I feel so bad…

I used all my stimpaks. I only had like, three, but still. I promise, I did everything I could. And that idiot was cracking jokes the whole time his flesh was mending. His face is okay, kind of, but Hancock lost an eye. Crap…

I can’t believe he gave his eye for me. And all he said was, “Hey, ‘sexy pirate’ was always going to be my fallback if ‘sexy mayor’ didn’t pan out.”

I forced a laugh and said, “Well, good thing you’re missing an eye, then.”

“God damn, MacCready, that burn hurt worse than the assaultron.”

How could he banter with me like that after I just…?

Ugh. I hate myself so much. I haven’t felt this bad since Lucy, well, you know. I don’t really wanna write about that. But I feel terrible. 

We stayed up on the bridge for the night. After the stimpaks and med-x kicked in, Hancock helped me haul all the bodies off the bridge. It was actually pretty gross watching them drop like that. We could hear them crack on the ground underneath us. Echk. But it was better than sleeping next to a bunch of dead guys. 

Hancock was in really good spirits. But I wasn’t. I guess he got tired of watching me mope because he finally said, “MacCready, you’ve gotta let it go. I know what I got into leaving Goodneighbor. I know what the Gunners are capable of. Sometimes, ghouls lose bodyparts; if it wasn’t an eye, it would have been something else sooner or later, so believe me when I say I’m happy that I at least lost it for a good reason.”

“It’s not a good reason!” snapped. “I never asked you to jump in front of me like that! And why?! Because those assh…those jerks decided to harass me until I broke? You didn’t need to do that for me, Hancock…”

“Well I did. And now it’s done. And I’m tellin’ ya, I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”

I didn’t know what to say to him. All I could do was stand there with my mouth hanging open like an idiot. And I don’t know if it was the way my mouth was open or if he was high, but he decided now was a good time to lean over and kiss me. I pushed him away.

“Wh-what the hell are you doing?”

“Sorry, guess I read the room wrong.”

“Uh…yeah…guess so,” I said. 

Jesus. I don’t even know what I’m doing anymore. I mean, I don’t regret that I went all the way out here with Hancock, but at the same time I kind of do. Not because he tried to kiss me or anything (although yeah, that was weird too) but because of his eye. Damn. I’m such a moron. Well, guess I’d better start writing something useful for a change and then get some sleep:

_Duncan,_

_Hey, kiddo. Did you get that last issue of Grognak I sent you? If you like that, you’re gonna LOVE this one. Check it out: mint condition! Cool, right?_

_How are your friends? Are you getting plenty of bed rest? I’m going to get you some better medicine really soon. I promise._

_Right now, I’m getting some more caps so that when you get better you can spend them. A friend is helping me. His name is Hancock. He’s a ghoul who likes to fart. He pretends he’s the mayor of a settlement, too._

_If you feel well enough, write back to me, okay? I’ll send you another letter next week. I love you, kiddo. _

_Dad_

Ugh. Promises. Empty promises. That’s all I can ever give him. And now I can’t even ask Hancock to help me get into Med-Tek. Not after what I put him through. Oh well. Not much I can do about it now. Guess I’d better get some sleep.


	5. Piper

Oh. My. God.

Okay, I’m officially about to pull my hair out. 

You know, I thought I’d be a lot worse off than I am. After all, the Institute _did_ kind of kidnap and torture me, but the real torture? Putting up with that insufferable, monotonous, human-stump of a guy that calls himself Danse.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful - like, _really, really grateful_ \- that he was there when he was. If he wasn’t, I’d probably be dead. But a few days have gone by, and he just doesn’t _get_ it. He’s a synth: a synthetic human. I don’t know if the Institute sent him to spy on the Brotherhood of Steel or if he’s an escaped synth who got reprogrammed, but either way, the Brotherhood is going to kill him for it. And he’s somehow _okay_ with that. 

Well, it became obvious after a day or two that wasn’t about to leave the Cambridge Police Station; he was gonna sit pretty and wait for this “Elder Maxson” character to show up and “serve justice,” whatever that means. (And, uh, I’m pretty sure it means certain death.) I wasn’t about to let that happen, and I knew there was only one way to get him to leave.

Danse just lost his squad. I mean, the look in the man’s eyes when he approached the police station, only to discover the ferals had gotten there first…well, it wasn’t a pretty look. As stupid as he is, I know he tries to do good; he obviously cares about people. So, I uh, you know, may or may not have used that as leverage against him…

This morning, I left the station. Just…walked on out. I was still in bad shape; a break here, some scrapes and bruises there, but I left, wandering out into the ruins. Sure enough, I could hear the loud, thunderous footsteps of power armor following behind me.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going, civilian?”

“I told you, I’m going to find Detective Valentine.”

He glowered, eyes rich and hazel like angry balls of slime. “You’re wounded. Besides, I already told you, I need to wait here. Once the Prydwen arrives in the Commonwealth -”

“OoooOOOHhHHHH OnCE tHE PryDWeN aRRiVEs-” I mocked, and his brows furrowed so deep I thought they were going to fall off of his face. “You know what, Danse?! Stay here! I’m going on my own!”

“And what is it you hope to gain, exactly?”

“Were you even listening when I explained earlier?”

“No, I wasn’t,” he retorted, expending more emotion that I knew he was capable of. “Maybe I tuned you out after a while. Maybe I was busy mourning the loss of my squad while you were busy complaining about newspapers.”

Actually, _that_ stung a little. Maybe I should have been a little more sensitive. But now, I was invested in my act, and the only way to lure him out of the police station would be to keep it up. Ugh. Get it together Piper, just gotta be dramatic a little bit longer. There would be time for apologies later.

“MY SISTER IS STILL OUT THERE, IDIOT!”

His eyes widened. I knew my voice scared people sometimes, but watching a big, strong guy in power armor reel back a little was…wow.

“Nat is out there, and it’s not like I can just waltz into Diamond City to find her! I need to get to Nicky. He can take Nat somewhere safe.”

“I thought you said this ‘detective’ lived in Diamond City too.”

“So you **were** listening earlier! Ha!”

I had never seen a look that so obviously screamed ‘shut up’ without literally screaming shut up before.

“Well, I can wear a disguise when I get there! Or something! Argh! You! Are! Infuriating!”

“It seems we can finally agree on something.”

“OOOHHH!” I hissed. “Look here, Danse! I’m going to Diamond City! I’m getting Nick! And he’s gonna take Nat somewhere safe! And I’m leaving right now, going out into the ruins all on my own, even though I’m wounded! See?! I’m walking! You see my feet moving farther and farther away?!”

He sighed. “Yes.”

“Good! Keep watching then, jerk! ‘Cause here I go! Here goes crazy, wounded Piper! Out into the ruins! Out into the-”

**”Get down!”**

Before I could move, a blinding, blue light zipped past my head. Guts and gore exploded all over; on my clothes, in my hair, everywhere. I gasped and watched the feral ghoul drop to the ground with a revolting thud. I held out a strand of long, black hair. There were brains in it.

“Oh god, I think I’m gonna be sick…”

_Clunk, clunk, clunk._ Danse approached me, and with a sharp inhale, said, “Fine. I understand risking your life to protect your loved ones. I’ll get you safely to Diamond City, but once the detective finds a home for your sister, I have to return to Cambridge and wait for Elder Maxson’s orders. Understood, civilian?”

I let my hair fall, trying my best to ignore the offal that was clinging to me in the worst, possible way. “Yeah, fine, but Danse, the name’s Piper. You’ve _gotta_ stop calling me ‘civilian.’”

“No. Let’s move.” I rolled my eyes and watched the paladin take a few steps before pausing, looking over his shoulder, and asking, “Are you alright?”

Honestly, it was kind of sweet that he asked. I decided to tone it down a little for his sake. “Yeah. I’m…I’m okay. Thanks, Danse.”

“Don’t mention it. But please don’t try any more of these ‘tactics.’” 

“T-tactics?” Oh man, my poker face was _bad_.

“Don’t think I’m oblivious, Ms. Wright. You’re pulling me away from my duties in hopes you can convince me to leave the Brotherhood behind, regardless of the importance of finding your sister.”

“I…uh…”

“But what you fail to understand is that I just lost my entire squad. Even if I were to denounce my loyalties to the Brotherhood, which I absolutely will not, I would never be unloyal to my friends, even in death. Rhys and Haylen deserve a proper burial with the Brotherhood. I intend to see that through, even if it means giving my own life.”

Danse gave me one, final, _hard_ look before taking the lead. Jeez. This man lived and breathed steel. As I stood there covered in feral, I could not have felt worst. I wanted to apologize, but I couldn’t bring myself to say anything. I don’t know what compelled me to act so selfishly; the stress of being kidnapped, beaten, wondering if Nat was still alive, or all of it, but it wasn’t a good excuse to put him through that. He’s a gen-3 synth, not some unfeeling toaster. After I know Nat is alright, maybe I’ll swing by my office…pack up a few things before I skip town, maybe grab myself a good, stiff drink.


	6. Valentine

How long has it been since I crawled out of that Institute dumpster? Years, now. And I’ve seen it all, from ferals to flying airships, radroaches to raiders, bloodbugs to behemoths. And somehow, after all this time, what finally ended Nick Valentine was some skinny, young dame in a sequin dress: Darla.

Darla.

Skinny Malone’s flame. 

Where do I even start? Anywhere, I guess. Not like I don’t have the time to kill these days.

I went off on some investigation that my secretary, Ellie, told me was bad news. Of course, I didn’t listen and went anyway. Ended up locked in some old vault below ground, a vault that Skinny’s gang was using as their hideout.

Now, I knew Skinny. He wasn’t about to kill his old, pal Nicky. That’s not the way he operated. I must have been trapped in that vault for two, three weeks, bored out of my mind, forced to read through the same terminal over and over again. And worse yet, I only had one cigarette left. My emergency. My spare.

Well, one day, Skinny’s second-in-command opened the door. I decided enough was enough and yanked him into a sleeper hold, something a certain old-world cop learned how to do in the line of duty. From there, I made my way out of the vault, grabbing a pistol here and some ammo there. Didn’t take long before I was safe out in the metro station…or so I thought.

“Nicky?! What are you doin’! You come into _my_ house. Shoot up _my_ guys. You have any idea how much this is gonna set me back?”

“I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for your two-timing dame, Skinny. You ought to tell her to write home more often.”

Darla’s lips twitched into a sadistic smile. “Awww, poor, little Valentine! Ashamed you got beat up by a girl? I’ll just run back home to daddy, shall I?”

“Come on, Skinny,” I sighed. I was getting impatient; Between the time I spent holed up in that vault and the few yards away I was from the ladder that led to freedom, I was ready to be back home. “Are you really going to let Darla order you around like that? I thought Skinny Malone was in charge, here, not Skinny’s girl.”

“Don’t you let him talk to me like that!” shrieked Darla, slapping my rival in the arm hard enough to remind me of all the D.V. cases old-Nick used to investigate where a man hesitated to speak up against his wife or girlfriend. But I could tell Skinny was considering my words. He had that look in his eyes, the same, confused look he had whenever we shared a laugh together in the middle of one of our spats, an expression that told me Skinny was questioning each event that led up to this point. 

“You’re right,” he said at long last. “Darla, I’m not gonna let-”

Well…that’s where it should have ended. That’s where Skinny should have said his peace, where Darla should have gone running home. Instead, Skinny’s second-in-command, the goon I put in the sleeper hold, came back for revenge. 

He fired his gun. I could feel the coolant pooling through my coat, Skinny shouting “whoa, whoa, hold on a minute!” ‘Swiss Cheese’ never was a great look on me, so I fired back. 

The goon doubled over. Another shot rang. Then another, and another. More coolant through my coat. I spun around and fired. Skinny clutched his heart. Collapsed onto his knees. Wheezed. 

“Baby!” squealed Darla, tending to her fat flame only to watch him flicker out in front of her eyes.

I didn’t mean to kill Skinny; truly, I didn’t. I liked the guy as much as I could like any thug. Not that I didn’t regret pulling that trigger, but what other choice did I have? 

I don’t know if it was karma or God’s sick, twisted sense of humor, but Darla took that bat of hers and hit me across the face so fast my head spun. My gun clattered to the ground. I heard it bounce over onto the tracks. I reached for it, but before I could get anywhere near it, that tiny, little girl smashed my arm off in such a grizzly way that I actually groaned.

There was nothing I could do anymore. My limbs were scattered all over the metro station, sick, blue puddles of coolant all over the place. So this is how I died? If only I were so lucky…

Darla screamed, clutching my head and tearing it from my neck. She wailed and tossed me, tossed me as far as I could be tossed. My world turned inside out, visions of train cars and tracks and concrete walls spinning and spinning until I felt queasy, which, when you think about it, is pretty funny considering I was both a synth _and_ bodyless.

Guess luck wasn’t completely against me, because I rolled into an upright position. Then again, Darla _did_ take the liberty of placing the contents of my coat – namely, my pack of smokes and lighter – six inches away from my face as a parting gift.

“Screw you Valentine! I could kill you, you know! But I think I’ll just let you suffer here until some ghoul comes along and bats you around like a cat toy!”

“Darla, think about what you’re doing for a minute.”

“I’m done thinking! Enjoy the rest of your life, Valentine!”

Well, I’m not enjoying it. It’s been days. Weeks, maybe. Hell, has it been a month? Not a worthwhile soul has found their way down here. Just the ferals, the roaches, and me. There’s a foul odor creeping out of that vault; the smell of corpses and rot. I’d like to say I’ve been through worse, but right about now, I’m starting to question that sentiment.

On a good day, I’ll see a feral shambling along the tracks in the distance. Sometimes, he or she will bend over and pluck something off of the ground, give it a sniff, and set it back down once they realize it’s not edible. But me? They don’t even blink at me. I just keep quiet and watch. I wonder how long it’ll be until I get bored enough to shout at them and draw their attention. Will they try and eat my head? Well, probably, but what else is there to do? Not like I can have a smoke or adjust my hat. 

My hat’s still on my head, by the way.

Actually, I take it back. The most interesting thing isn’t the ferals, or the bad smell, or the radroach that lives under the third barrel to the right - - it’s that dame climbing down the ladder, hair like flames with constellations of freckles. And there she goes, walking right toward me, scratching at her arm and…oh…that’s quite the wad of spit she just hocked there.

And now she’s…oh.

Well, I was going to say something, but I think I’ll just let her finish her business first. 

…

Yeah, you just take your time, doll. No rush. Not like anything happens down here anyway. Just an old, synth head and his inner-monologue…

There she goes, pulling up her pants now. Well, at least the smell is different from the corpses. And now she’s moving past me. If I’m gonna say something, it needs to be now. Otherwise, I’ll be down here for God only knows how long. 

“Say, be a doll and grab a guy a smoke?”

“What the bloody shite?!”

She’s blinking at me, eyes sparkling like emeralds in the bright beam of the construction light. 

“There’s a perfectly good explanation for what you’re seeing right now.”

“Yeah right! I haven’t taken chems in almost a day!”

“Well, the first step is always the hardest,” I joke. She’s not in the mood.

“What are you?! Answer me question, damn it!”

“The name’s Valentine.” I almost include ‘The Head of’ as my prefix but decide against it. “Nick Valentine. Diamond City detective.”

“Well good ta meet you,” sneered the Irish gal, “I’m Cait. You investigatin’ where you left your body?”

I use my eyes to ‘gesture’ behind me. She can see my disassembled limbs. 

“Oh. I see. That’s a tough break, Nicky.”

“Sure is. Now, how about that cigarette?” 

“You can’t be serious.”

I blink. Her tongue clicks against the roof of her mouth and she reaches down to grab a cigarette from my carton. She gives the lighter a couple quick flicks. Sparks fall onto the tracks. She takes a long drag herself before kneeling down and placing it between my lips. I take a long, long drag myself and finally feel somewhat at peace.

“Alright. Now what?”

I exhale through my nostrils and talk, voice muffled through my attempt to keep the cigarette poised in my mouth. “Now, I convince you to get me out of this hellhole.”

“Ha! And why would I want to carry some nicotine-addled synth head out of the sewers? What’s in it for me?”

I know there’s only one thing that’s going to convince her. Well, two things, judging by the way she scratches the freckles on her arms and covers her wrists with gloves. But I don’t have any chems.

“Caps,” I say. Can’t afford not to get right to the point.

“Well now you’re speakin’ my language, darlin’,” she says, and gives me a sultry, little wink. “Say, you’re pretty handsome for a synth head.”

“It’s synth-detective, dollface,” I insist, and she picks me, cradling me in her arms. I feel dysphoric. Emasculated. She plucks the smoke from my mouth, places it in hers, and takes a hard drag. 

“Alright, Nicky. Let’s get you outta here. Reeks down here, anyway.”


	7. Hancock

It’s good to see the kid stickin’ up for himself. Too bad I scared him off like an asshole. Not sure if it’s because I’m a ghoul, a guy, or twenty years older than he is. D, all of the above, I’m guessing. Really wish I would have kept it in my pants, you know? 

This morning was pretty awkward. He was quiet for a lotta reasons. He felt bad that I lost my eye, wouldn’t shut up about it no matter how much I told him it was all worth it. And damn if I didn’t mean it. Fuck the Gunners. But I’m sure he was quiet for other reasons too, reasons mentioned above. 

He keeps clinging to some letter. Probably a letter from a girl somewhere. Attractive young merc like that, and who wouldn’t want a piece of him? Damn. I need to let it go. He ain’t interested, John.

We took off later than we meant to, but such is life. Was feeling pretty sore. Took a few bad hits yesterday. Didn’t say anything though. Heh. Always did feel like I have to play tough. Probably don’t need to now that I’m out and about with MacCready, but he’s reserved, and it’s making me want to keep pace.

I can tell there’s something weighing on him, though. Not sure if I should ask him about it or give him some space. If some asshole kept bothering me, I’d want him to screw off. I’ll leave him alone for now. Can’t help but wonder, though. Guess I’ll get high and relax for a bit. Found a sweet spot down by the bay. Perfect for huffing jet and watching the sunset melt into the water.


	8. Danse

**Log102287-11**

This is Paladin Danse, registration no. DN407P. I’m writing this from a place called “The Dugout Inn” in Diamond City with the holotape I took from Cambridge. 

Where to begin?

I left Cambridge and the bodies of my fallen brethren to assist this infuriating reporter woman in finding her lost sister. Aside from trying to turn me against the Brotherhood, she is also a synth-sympathizer and chews her food too loudly.

We arrived near Diamond City this morning, where she insisted on disguising herself and entering the city rather than letting me acquire this detective myself. She insisted on wearing a false mustache. I couldn’t talk her out of it. The fact that the guards actually bought into her ruse, the terrible English accent and the way she kept saying, ‘tally-ho,’ makes me understand why it was so easy for the Institute to infiltrate them. What good is it to have a settlement if you aren’t vigilant? It’s pathetic.

Ms. Wright is having a drink before deciding what to do next. I find myself wondering if the alcohol will make her decisions better or worse. We’ll see soon enough. Was leaving the station really the right thing to do?

**Log102287-12**

Neither Ms. Wright’s sister nor the detective are anywhere to be found. The detective’s office is closed for business. Ms. Wright says this is uncharacteristic of Det. Valentine. I came here to help find this woman’s family and I’ll keep my word, but Ms. Wright and her overdramatic antics certainly make me second guess myself. I don’t want to die, but anything, even death, would be preferable to listening to her rant.

**Log102287-13**

This evening took a turn for the worse. As I was standing by the noodle shop, I saw Ms. Wright and her sister enter Publick Occurrences. But when I turned around, Ms. Wright was standing behind me. 

She has been replaced, and the synth infiltrator now has full access to her sister, Nat. 

It was like watching a light flicker out and die in Ms. Wright’s eyes when she saw her sister in that position. And it makes me sick knowing the Institute is capable of such an affront, to know I’m no different than the synth walking through that newsroom door. I shouldn’t even be alive.

Why does she care? Even through all the tears she shed, why does she continue to care? Why does she want me alive, or want my help? I’m the same as that monster at the Publick. The only thing I can do to make things right is to report in to Elder Maxson, but reporter seems to think I can help her. Should I? I certainly don’t have a use for myself any longer, but evidently, she does. 

I’m not sure what this is going to gain me, but I feel obligated to try. At least for Ms. Wright and her family.


	9. Cait

Alright, so I got me a synth head. Sure. Why not, eh?

Mouthy thing, too. Never shuts up about needing a smoke, or a body, or this or that. All I really care about are caps and chems, and considerin I don’t have either, what the hell am I even doing? At least I’ll have the caps soon enough. He’d better pay well, assuming he’s really a detective. Kind of job like that must pay loads of caps.

-

Too long without chems. Feelin sick. The headless horseman of the post-apocalypse decided to pick me brain about it. Can’t really hide it, not with the sweats.

“Say, Cait?”

“What do you want?” I snapped.

“Well, first, I’m going to ask politely for you to turn me around.”

“Right. Sorry,” I said. Didn’t realize I stuck his face in me tits. Guess I got lazy holdin him like that.

“Thanks. Now that I can breathe,” (yeah right, as if you got any lungs!) “how about we pick up some addictol once we get to Diamond City?”

“What?! You think I haven’t tried that by now?!”

“Calm down and let’s talk this through. How long have you been on the junk?”

“Why d’you care?”

“Because, Cait, you’re a charming, young woman with a fair amount of talent.”

“What, cage fightin’?”

“I’m talking about your poetry.”

“Oi!” I shouted. “You read me poetry?!”

“Well, you _did_ set my head down next to your journal while you ate breakfast. Not a whole lot for a head to do except look at what’s in front of him. Besides, you’re young. You’ve got your whole life ahead of you.”

Truthfully, I couldn’t get past the fact that he called me charmin. Weird that I felt so good about it. I mean, who cared what HE thought? He was just some judgmental head.

“No pun intended,” he added.

“What pun?”

“A_head_ of…eh, never mind. Pass me another smoke, will ya?”

At least it was funny watchin the guy smoke. I sat him down for a second and lit up a cigarette from a carton I got out of one of those old machines on the way. Picked him back up with it in his mouth and carried on me merry way.

“Look, not sure why I’m sayin this to ya, but nothin helps anymore. I’m too addicted. So unless you know anything about Vault 95, why don’t you just keep to yourself and pay me once we get to Diamond City?”

“Hm, Vault 95, you say?” A puff of smoke left his face. “Yeah, I know the place. Last I heard, Gunners moved in. But there is a rumor about the place: they say there’s a machine that can flush the chems from your system and make you right as rain.”

I dropped him. “Aye! That’s what I’m talkin about Nicky!”

“Ow, hey!” 

“Sorry…” I picked him back up, dusted the guy off, and put the cigarette back in his funny-lookin mouth. “Can ya take me there?”

“Take you to Vault 95? That’s a hell of a journey, Cait…”

“Please!” I turned him around to face me. “Nicky, this is me only chance to set things right, to get this shite outta me system. There’s gotta be somethin you can do to help me.”

“Well, not as a head, I can’t. But…hmm…” His yellow eyes got all narrow, like he was thinkin about somethin important. “Tell you what: after we stop by Diamond City, let’s head over to Goodneighbor. Got a friend there who might have a fix for my particular brand of ‘screwed.’ Her name is Doctor Amari, and she dabbles in some, er, interesting science.”

“Alright, whatever you want, so long as you promise me you’ll help me get to 95!”

“You get me to Goodneighbor, and I’ll get you to Vault 95. You have my word, Cait.”

I smiled, actually smiled for the first time I since I got kicked out of Tommy’s. Dunno what the guy thought a doctor could do for him, but hey, I’d play along if it meant getting me way. 

-

_The bodyless synth (5)_   
_He’s taking me to the vault (7)_   
_Fuckin FINALLY (5)_


	10. MacCready

I think I <s>fucked</s> screwed up. Hancock won’t even look at me anymore. At first I thought it was because of his eye, but he keeps telling me over and over that he’s good with it, and I believe him. I know he’d give more than an eye just to save someone else’s life…more than I would ever give, personally. But he’s so cold and distant.

Well, I think we’ve stopped for the night. It’d be stupid to travel any more. It’s already sunset. I can see bloodbugs flying around on the other side of the bay…sure hope they stay over there. I’d feel more comfortable with a rocky ceiling above my head, but I guess this shack will do.

Once we get back to civilization, I’ll have to find a courier for the letter. I keep reading it over and over, wondering if I should even send it. I’m so low on caps. But…I really want Duncan to have this issue of Grognak. Who cares if I don’t eat for a few days. Besides, maybe one of Hancock’s limbs will finally fall off and I can just eat that. Kidding.

Eh. He’s gonna have to talk to me sooner or later. Besides, we’re working on HIS job now. Gotta have open communication or it won’t work. Been employed by too many “quiet types,” and I’ve gotta tell you, not real impressed with their mortality rate.

-

It’s morning. I couldn’t sleep last night. It started raining, and I got cold. I guess Hancock was awake too, because he finally started talking to me. He asked me about the letter. What was I supposed to do, lie to him? Usually I wouldn’t care, but I mean, it was Hancock asking, so I told him…told him it was a letter for my son.

“A son, huh? Pretty young for that, aintcha?”

“Well, yeah,” I said. “My son, Duncan, is four.”

“And you’re how old?”

“Twenty-two.”

“Damn, MacCready. Makin’ me miss my horny teenage years.”

I chuckled, flipping through the same comic book. “Yeah. Happened as soon as I left Little Lamplight.”

“Where’s that?”

“DC.”

“That the settlement full of little kids?”

“That’s the one,” I nodded. “I was even the mayor for a while. Can you believe that? Me? Mayor!”

Hancock grinned. “Can’t believe you have seniority over me. Coulda been askin’ you for pointers the entire time.”

“Oh man, I give terrible advice. Take it from guy who got his wife knocked up at age seventeen.”

Hancock got quiet. Weirdly quiet.

“Did…uh…did I say something wrong?”

“Nah. Just didn’t know you have a wife.”

“Oh. Well…” Great. Now I was going to have to tell him all about Lucy. It would dredge up old memories, BAD memories, ones I suppressed until they came back up so fast they hurt sometimes. But I didn’t end up needing to.

“Gotcha,” he said. Guess he worked out she was dead by the look on my face.

“Yeah,” I nodded. “Well…anyway…I should try to get some more sleep.”

-

_Hey, Lucy. I just want you to know that I still love and miss you. Sometimes it gets really lonely out here. I know you’ll always be with me in spirit, but it’s not the same…I really, really miss you, Lu_

“Writing to your son again?”

I crumpled up the paper. “Uhhh! Yeah! Yeah, just, writing to Duncan. Uh, I keep spelling things wrong though, so…”

“Can I see?”

“Really rather you didn’t.”

“Hey,” said Hancock. He put a hand on my shoulder, my rifle shoulder. It always aches these days, but when Hancock touched me, it felt…good. “It’s alright to write to her.”

How did he know? How did he <s>fucking</s> effing know? Didn’t really get the chance to ask, because he squeezed me and walked off. And now I’m sitting here over breakfast and it’s really, really awkward. But you know…after all this…maybe I WILL ask him about Med-Tek…


	11. Piper

I can’t believe I’ve been replaced. My heart is breaking for Nat. I don’t even know how I feel. Sad, angry, deceived, numb… 

Well, either I can sit here with my emotions, or I can do something about it. I just don’t know what _to_ do. Nick is gone; disappeared off the face of the earth. Even his secretary isn’t around, just some lonely, old sign hanging crooked on the door. 

When I go outside, I wonder how many others have been replaced. Becky down at Fallon’s? John the barber? Was it one of them – their synth doubles – who had a hand in replacing me? Ugh. It all sounds like some big, stupid conspiracy; it’s insane to think it isn’t. But that’s reality nowadays, isn’t it? 

Right now – literally **right now,** – Nat is in there with that replacement! I’ve got to find Nicky. I guess I’m grateful Danse is here and all, but all he’s doing is sitting in the corner typing on that terminal.

HEY DANSE, WATCHA DOING?! PLAYING RED MENACE?! OH DON’T MIND ME I’LL JUST SIT HERE IN MY FAKE MOUSTACHE AND WATCH MY SISTER HANG OUT WITH MY DUPLICATE, MY DUPLICATE WHOSE PROFILE HAS WAYYY TOO MANY CHINS AND I AM IN NO WAY COMFORTABLE WITH! THANKS!!!1111

-

Okay, so, hi, it’s me, Piper, writing to myself from Publick Occurences. So, yeahhh…we didn’t find Nick, but we _did_ maybe kind of wait until two in the morning, sneak in, and kill my replacement. Sooo…that’s a thing that happened!

It was actually Danse’s idea, I just had a hand in working out the details. See, earlier, I paid off one of Nat’s friends to ask replacement-Piper if Nat could spend the night. Knowing Nat was over at her friend’s house, Danse and I were able to sneak in and murder me. Well, the other me.

Always felt like beating myself up over stupid stuff, and I was actually given the chance, so that was neat, I guess. I think I handled it all pretty well!


	12. Nick

I sigh for the fiftieth time, mouth pressed against Cait’s freckled chest. “You’re doing it again, Cait.”

“Ugh,” she replies, and spins me around. I count down the seconds until she gets tired and my head is tipped right back into her breasts for the fifty-first time. I’ll just ask her to light up another smoke for me as a deterrent. Seems like a win-win.

-

Raiders. Wish I could lend a hand, though she seems to be taking care of business on her own. Her movements are choppy and brash, like waves sloshing against the hull of a ship. She loads, cocks, fires. They grunt, collapse, die. Ebb and flow, ebb and flow. 

She’s finished now, corset flecked with blood. Red on brown like a grisly autumn landscape. Sweat falls down her pale face like rain. _The fall of Cait; on a fall day; dressed in pigments of fall._ Oh God, now I’m resorting to poetry. I need another cigarette.

-

Diamond City: The Great Green Jewel. And…Piper? Who is she with? Some character in power armor?

“Oh my God…Nicky?! Nicky! You’re…you’re…”

“Slow down before you get a_head_ of yourself, doll.”

Piper pauses, eyes wide. “Oh, Nick.” Pity. I’d pity me, too, if I saw myself making puns like that. Guess it’s nothing to lose my head over, though.

“So, what’s the haps?”

“You know, something tells me you should talk first.”

I shrug. Except actually, I don’t. “Got a couple scrapes and bruises from Skinny Malone’s gang. This is my new pal, Cait. She’s going to make sure I bounce back from all this.”

“If you say so,” replies the fiery dame.

“Wait, _this_ is the detective? He’s a synth!” says the sentient can opener. I note the cogs painted on the side of his armor. Brotherhood. _Deep into that darkness peering, Long I stood there, wondering, fearing…_ said Poe. Always did find it rather fitting.

Piper glares at him. “Uh, you’re one too, remember?”

Oh? An interesting bit of information, there. He can tell I find it so by the look I shoot him. Whoever he is, he’s already tired of me, the only sentiment we’ll ever keep in common, I wager. 

“Nicky, listen, I don’t have a lot of time to explain,” says the raven-haired reporter. “I’ve been replaced. There’s a body…_my_ body” she swallows hard “lying on the floor of the Publick. Nat’s at a friend’s house, and she needs to get out of Diamond City, like, right now. Please, Nick. You have to do something.”

I loathe myself for thinking that the woman standing in front of me, my longtime friend, is perhaps the double. But it doesn’t make any sense. Especially if this paladin is a synth himself; no, he’s not a spy, and for whatever reason he’s helping Piper on her mission…a mission I don’t envy.

“Alright, let me think. Hmm. You consider waiting out this mess in Vault 81?”

“What? Nick, I can’t just hide in some vault…”

“Yeah, figured you’d say that. Never were the type to sit on your hands, Piper. But what about Nat? I’ve come across Vault 81 in my travels, and I doubt they’d turn down a kid. They’ve got food, clean water, education…”

Piper nods. Then she nods some more. She’s frantic, and I don’t blame her a bit. Poor gal was just replaced, which means Nat has been walking around with a double. I swear I just got the chills.

“Alright,” she says. “I can’t go back inside the gates, though. Can you bring Nat out here for me? I can get her to 81, just point me in the right direction.”

The paladin sighs. 

“Quit if you want!” snaps Piper, and the metal-clad meathead says,

“I’m going with you. I told you I would keep you and your sister safe, and I intend to follow through on that.”

Curious, but I feel safer knowing somebody in a suit of metal can stand in front of Piper when the bullets come’a’flying. Alright. Sounds like I’ve got my work cut out for me. Grab Nat, get her to safety, and pay Cait like I promised her. Oh, and dispose of the corpse in Piper’s house. Huh. Wonder if I have time to grab my other coat; it’s getting chilly out.


	13. Hancock

I looked at the merc. He was holding that little, gray vial. There were tears in his eyes. “We did it, Hancock! Holy crap, we actually did it! We just gave Duncan a fighting chance to live!”

“Don’t mention it, kid.”

“I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to pay you back for this…I owe you big time.”

“Gotta quit worrying about balancing the books. Sometimes, you just do what’s right, end of story.”

“I guess I’m just getting tired of taking rather than giving. Maybe one day I’ll get my priorities straight. Anyway, the last step ahead of us is getting the cure to -”

“Daisy!” I said, “How ya doin’, darlin’?”

“Back already, Hancock? And what’s this? Only one bodypart missing this time?” Heh. Always loved Daisy. Got a mouth on her. Not too hard on the eyes, well, _eye,_ either, especially for a mature woman. Before I could say anything back, she looked over at my traveling companion and said, “MacCready! Haven’t seen you in a while. You haven’t been avoiding me, have you?”

“Now how could I stay away from someone as cute as you, Daisy?”

“You’re a lousy liar, but I’ll just play stupid and pretend I don’t know that. So, what did you need?”

“I got it Daisy! I found the cure to Duncan’s disease!”

“Oh my God, that’s wonderful news! How’d you do it? The last time you tried, the ferals almost chewed you to bits.”

“I didn’t do it alone. Hancock helped get me through Med-Tek. Now all I need to do is get the cure into Duncan’s hands. Can you help me?”

“Of course, MacCready. You’ve saved my behind more than once, it’s the least I can do. It’ll arrive at your homestead in no time, MacCready.”

“Thanks Daisy, you’re a doll. W-wait, do you have a pen?”

Daisy dug through a box and found one while MacCready whipped out that letter from before. Feel a little bad about looking over his shoulder like that, but…

_ Duncan,_

_Hey, kiddo. Did you get that last issue of Grognak I sent you? If you like that, you’re gonna LOVE this one. Check it out: mint condition! Cool, right?_

_How are your friends? Are you getting plenty of bed rest? <s>I’m going to get you some better medicine really soon. I promise. </s>Make sure you take the medicine I sent you. You’re gonna get better in no time, and everything will be alright._

_<s>Right now, I’m getting</s> Here are some more caps so that when you get better you can spend them. A friend <s>is helping me. His name is Hancock. He’s a ghoul who likes to fart. He pretends he’s the mayor of a settlement, too.</s> helped me get them, his name is Mayor Hancock, and he’s a really great guy. I hope you get to meet him someday._

_If you feel well enough, write back to me, okay? I’ll send you another letter next week. I love you, kiddo._

_Dad_

He handed over the letter, comic and caps. There were tears in his eyes all the way down to the Third Rail. We had a celebratory drink, when he asked me,

“So, how do you wanna go about the whole ‘finding the Railroad’ thing?”

“Why don’t we discuss that tomorrow morning? Tonight’s about you. About your son.”

He smiled. Never seen him smile like that before. He always had this grin, and these eyes that were too sad and too old for someone his age. I guess world-weary is a good description. Can’t even imagine the things he’s been through to have that kind of look on his face. But tonight, he was happy. Couldn’t just take him away from that.

Anyway, we drank for a long time. Too long, probably. Even I was a little drunk and I wasn’t even cross-faded. We closed the door to the VIP room and stumbled in, laughing our asses off about some joke about a deathclaw or something, I can’t remember, when he tumbled onto his couch. I tried to take a seat and tripped, tumbling right down with him. Only this time, he pulled me on top of himself, right into that pretty mouth of his. 

After all the shit I tried with him, now…now he wanted me. Drunk and happy, lips screwed tight against mine; his soft, mine cracked and weathered. Fuck it was good. He tasted like cigarettes and whiskey. Really loved the feel of his beard, of his jaw, the way he pushed his tongue into my mouth and took charge, but…

“Wh-why’d you stop?” He blinked at me.

“Don’t get me wrong, that was…this is…man, it’s hot, but…”

“But what? I thought you wanted this?” He was frustrated. Shit. So was I.

“Not while you’re drunk, MacCready. Sorry.”

Yeah. I offended him alright. “Okay, fine. Well, then, just leave, will ya? Can’t even make up your mind…leading me on like that…”

Sorry, MacCready. Didn’t mean to lead you on, not that you’re reading this or anything, but in case you do - - - that kiss was so. fucking. good. Believe me when I say I wanna try again when you’re sober. Give anything to get one more taste of you.


	14. Danse

**Log102287-13**

This is Paladin Danse, checking in front Vault 81. We made is safely, though not without incident. I left off with Ms. Wright hysterical and inconsolable at the Dugout Inn. All she could focus on was finding the detective. I explained that in the time it would have taken us to find this man, we could simply break into the Publick and wipe out the synth ourselves. It’s what Maxson would have wanted. While she couldn’t have cared less about the Brotherhood’s objective (a sentiment she loudly and frequently opposes) she did take to the idea in general.

With her sister visiting a school friend, we entered the building and dismantled the synth. It wasn’t a difficult job, seeing as the gen-3s (like myself, unfortunately) function much like any other human and can be taken out quite easily. Unfortunately, brutally killing a spitting image of herself caused Ms. Wright to panic, vomit, and faint. I managed to catch her, but could not save my boots. She continues to travel under the delusion that she handled the situation with grace and dignity. 

It’s supper time. I will conclude this report at a later time.

**Log102287-14**

The detective Ms. Wright spoke of turned out to be a synth. I hadn’t seen anything like it before, neither a gen-2 nor a gen-3. Fascinating, I admit. At least you could tell what it was by looking at it. It offered to dispose of Ms. Wright’s synth double. The red-head the synth was with, Cait, came out with Nat later that day. We were able to get her to safety, thanks to Cait, and to the synth I suppose.

Nat had never travelled before but took to it quite well. There’s a fire in her that I see in many of our young field scribes. Ms. Wright was not happy when I voiced this observation.

Our journey was not easy. It took far longer than it should have to get there, but Nat was able to hide behind us whenever there was trouble, and seems to be recovering well mentally. I believe Ms. Wright is having a more difficult time coping than her sister. Nat finds it amusing that her older sister was replaced; not a sentiment I share, but I appreciate her iron will. What I do find amusing is that a twelve year old girl is a more easygoing traveling partner than Ms. Wright.

Nat is already enrolled in school and appears to be making friends. I’m posted at a terminal in the reactor room. Ms. Wright became so insistent I abandon the Brotherhood that I finally snapped. I confess, I have some guilt toward my reaction, especially considering she is about to leave her younger sister behind to “find the Institute herself,” which we both know is impossible. I think she’s having a mental break. I’ll try to be more sensitive in the future, but right now, I need some space.

**Log102287-15**

She won’t stop telling me Elder Maxson is going to kill me, as though I don’t already know that. I repeatedly tell her that it is my duty to see Rhys and Haylen laid to rest, that it is my duty to report in as intended, even if I am a synth. The human thing to do would be to put an end to myself once my mission is complete, and the Brotherhood always sees their mission through.

But…

Why doesn’t she care that I’m a synth? She tells me my life has merit regardless of what or who I am inside. The words sounded hollow at first, but the more she says them, the more I consider them. I made the hard decision to abandon my post to help somebody in need. With Ms. Wright wounded, she may never have made it back to Diamond City, and Nat would have surely fallen victim to the Institute. And I was able to carry out that mission even as a synth.

I can’t fight the Institute without the Brotherhood. But the catch 22 is that I can’t fight with them, either. They will see me dead. I’ve accepted that. But I realize something. My mission is the Brotherhood’s mission: wipe out the Institute no matter what it takes. So what is my mission? My purpose? Is it to stay loyal to Maxson, or to our cause? Are they not one in the same? Can I still be of use to the Brotherhood? 

When she looks at me…when Piper looks at me…she almost makes me believe there’s still something worth fighting for. I…I don’t know what to do. Is it right to want to try to push on?

**Log102287-16**

No. I have to do what’s right. There is only one way. I’m sorry, Elder Maxson. I’m sorry Rhys, and Haylen, and all of you. Even you, Piper. This is Paladin Danse, registration no. DN407P, factory designation unknown, and this is my last entry. Thank you for allowing me to serve. It has been an honor. Ad victoriam.


	15. Cait

FECKIN HELL! How can one man take care of business bein just a head?!

First, he took us back to his office and started rantin about how he’s gotta find his secretary. He shoved some caps in me face (well, metaphorically speakin) and went to go find Ellie. Turns out she was about to skip town since she didn’t have a job anymore, said the mayor was gonna repossess her house. Nicky convinced her to stay for now, and gave her some money to help. How many caps does he have, anyway? Probably should have asked for more. Don’t wanna push me luck, though, not since he’s taking me to Vault 95.

After he paid off his secretary to make sure his office didn’t burn to the ground while he was away, he found that girl. She was totally oblivious her sister was replaced by the Institute. Never had any siblings meself, but shite, I wouldn’t wanna be in her shoes. I kinda like that girl. She has a mouth on her, and kept makin fun of Nick for bein just a head. Never really liked kids, but I dunno, it was kinda cute. Anyway, we got her out of Diamond City, and that pretty reporter lady and her hot boyfriend got out before anyone caught on. 

Now all we have to do is get rid of the body in Piper’s house. Wonder how they killed that synth, anyway. Hope it’s not messy. Personally, I hate cleanin.

-

Nicky really didn’t like seein his friend dead like that. I kept havin to remind him that it was just a synth. Not like he didn’t already know that, but he seemed to be havin a really rough time gettin the idea through his thick skull. 

He’s not really sure what to do with the body yet. There’s a pool of blood and some puke on the floor. Cleaned me fair share of messes up from the Combat Zone, so I hoped I was done with that shite. Ah well, what’s one more good scouring? 

Anyway, we’re sittin here, trying to come up with ideas. So far we’ve got:

*Acid in a bathtub – nah, too obvious  
*Wait til dark and throw the body into the water – my idea but Nicky says no, it’s the town’s drinkin water. I say who cares? It’s purified, right?  
*Bury the body – no, too many guards

Ugh, this is frustratin! Doesn’t help that I still feel like shite. Scored some psycho from that chem dealer with the stupid hat earlier and took half a dose. I think Nicky can tell I took it because he’s lookin at me all disappointed. But what am I supposed to do until I get to the vault?! I gotta be able to think clearly! Wait, I think I have an idea. Sorry Nicky, you aren’t gonna like this…

-

Nicky won’t talk to me, but I can’t stop laughin. I think what we did was hilarious. 

I scored meself a wheelchair from that crazy gal sellin scrap. Then, I pulled out me knife and went to work. Don’t think Nicky was into it.

“What’re you…oh…”

I cut fake-Piper’s head off. Never really did somethin like that before. I’ve stabbed people in the throat, but cuttin off a head is a whole other experience. It takes a while. And the whole time, Nicky was starin at me makin a face.

“I’m not the queasy sort, but for this, I’ll make an exception. I sure hope you know what you’re doing, Cait.”

“Trust me,” I told him and ripped off the head. Five minutes later, Nicky’s head was sittin pretty on top of the body that I dressed in one of his coats. I cleaned up the blood off the floor and left. Gettin the wheelchair up the stairs was a little tough. The head almost slipped out from the underthingy a couple times, but we made it out alright. 

The guard at the front saw him in the chair and said, “Yo, Valentine! The hell happened to you?”

“Polio,” he glowered.

We made it up the road a ways before Nicky said, “This is sick, Cait. Get my head the hell off the body.” Wheeled the chair into super mutant territory after. They’ll eat the corpse, no problem. And me and Nicky made it out without any problems.

“Told you it’d work,” I said, but he stopped talkin. Guess I can’t blame him. It was pretty gruesome. But the point is that it worked, right? Now we’re sittin in front of the Library. It’s almost dark. Should be in Goodneighbor by tomorrow. Maybe by then, he’ll talk to me again.

_There once a reporter named Piper_   
_And the Institute actually swiped her_   
_Killed the synth that was there_   
_Tossed its corpse down some stairs_   
_Now I_

Nicky’s readin me poems again, says if I finish this one the deal’s off. Should sleep, anyway.


End file.
